


on the flipside

by esctrl



Category: Jackass (Movies) RPF
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Freeform, M/M, kinda ?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2016-02-06
Packaged: 2018-05-18 16:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5934961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esctrl/pseuds/esctrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>out of all the choatic moments in their lives, they shared a few peaceful ones, all them spent behind the doors of countless hotel rooms in countless different cities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	on the flipside

**Author's Note:**

> this could be set during the filming of number two, i guess, but nothing in this fic is rlly specific so ????

It’s unknown, at least to them, what caused them to end up like this. It’s unknown at what point everything seemed to stop making sense.

It’s unknown at what point Johnny and Bam started showing up at each other’s hotel rooms, and waking up in each other’s beds. 

Of course, the half-hearted truth of it is that it doesn’t make sense but it doesn’t have to, because it happens anyway. 

Bam will show up at Johnny’s hotel room, have his hands in Johnny’s hair and his lips on Johnny’s before he barely has enough time to open the door. Johnny will show up at Bam’s hotel room, his hands stuffed into his pockets and greet Bam with some witty remark like they both don’t already know why he’s there. 

It happens, and they’ve stopped trying to make sense of it. 

It’s no use to try and find reasoning when it might not exist. There might be an answer out there, but it doesn’t matter when it’s not important enough to search for. 

~ 

Hotel after hotel, city after city, after the first few they just start looking the same. Shooting requires them to move around, anywhere and anyplace. There’s always a hotel with some muted beige paint on the walls, always a TV with nothing to watch, always a big window overlooking whatever city they’re in. 

It’s morning, early or late, Johnny can’t tell, but sunlight’s steaming in through the half-opened curtains, unwanted and blinding, making the room seem brighter than what’s actually possible. 

Someone’s cellphone is vibrating somewhere on the carpet, discarded and forgotten along with the pieces of clothing that surround it. Bam’s on the other side of the bed, lying on his stomach and drooling onto the sheets, and Johnny’s lying at least 10 inches away but he’s got an arm thrown across Bam’s torso. 

The room’s a mess, one big reminder that the night before exists and they dwelled within it just as they do the others. Johnny runs a hand over his face, trying to recollect his senses before trying to wake Bam, he doesn’t want to, he’d much rather just go back to sleep himself, but they can’t. 

After shaking him and repeating his name well over a few times, Bam peers up at Johnny with one bleary eye, an agitated demeanor already settled within him. 

“We gotta get goin’,” Johnny tells him, despite him not having moved from the position he woke up in, and Bam pushes himself up. 

“Fuck,” Bam looks just as disoriented and chaotic as the room does, his hair wildly tousled and black rings around his eyes, but Johnny can’t say much, there’s no telling what he looks like. “What time is it?” 

~ 

Bam asks him one night, when they’re twisted and tangled in the sheets of Johnny’s bed, what he dreams about when he sleeps. They’re both sweaty and exhausted, Bam’s lying on his side and Johnny’s on his back, the both of them trying to fall asleep without really wanting to. 

Johnny looks over at him, his brows furrowed, and asks, “Why?” 

Bam shrugs, tepid, like it’s the most ordinary question in the world. “I dunno, just asking.” 

Johnny looks back up to the ceiling, trying to think of a dream in particular, and can’t. Sure, there’s fragments and images of dreams still left in his memory, but it seems like as soon as he wakes up, all the details are lost. 

Bam’s still staring at him when Johnny glances back over, and Johnny turns the question around. “What’d you dream about?” 

“A lot of things,” Bam gives his nonchalant shrug again, pretends not to notice how Johnny avoided the question. “the stunts, snakes, falling, usual stuff.” He lists off each item like he’s trying to recollect them in his head, eyes something past Johnny as he does so. 

“You ever dream about me?” Johnny asks, somewhat joking and somewhat curious, and Bam focuses back on him, still as serious as he was from the start. 

He nods, “Yeah, sometimes.” 

~ 

Kissing Bam is somehow more intense than any shit he’s ever even imagined doing, off and on camera. He can’t tell if this is because the kid’s just that good or if he’s just that desperate, like he’s been thinking about Johnny having him pinned up against this hotel room wall all day and he’s finally at his breaking point. 

Either way, it doesn’t matter, it’s still the same. 

Bam’s hands are clutching at both sides of his face, and Johnny’s are flat against the wall, surrounding Bam completely. The kiss is all tongue and teeth, and Johnny feels like Bam’s kissing him so hard that his lips are bruised, but it doesn’t stop them, very few things could. 

Clothes are discarded and strewn on the short ways to the bed, and it seems like this kiss never breaks, or doesn’t stop long enough to matter. Bam’s shirt is pulled over his head and he’s back to kissing Johnny with just as much intensity as before. Johnny’s shirt is tugged off and they’re right back to where they started. 

Johnny falls back, pulling Bam on top of him, and he practically has to force himself off when it’s went on too long and he’s starting to feel dizzy from the lack of oxygen. Bam doesn’t miss a beat and moves on down his neck, he’s won this round. 

Of course it’s an unspoken competition to see who can hit the hardest, because what else would it be if not that. 

~ 

They’re always fighting, in some form or fashion, whether it be verbal or physical, and Bam’s always the one to start it. 

It’s play-fighting, something similar to the thing teenage boys do when they’re trying to show off, and Bam’s always delivering his punches with a smile. 

He’ll start swinging at Johnny when it’s early in the morning and they’re both stumbling about in the room trying to find their clothes, tackle him to the ground when they get out of the shower and the bathroom tile’s slippery and Johnny nearly knocks himself out of the edge of the sink. 

Maybe it’s some way for Bam to prove to Johnny that he’s not one-upping him on everything, that there’s still a few times that he can catch him off guard. 

It ends with Johnny on the ground, his arms shielding his head as Bam punches and punches until he tires himself out, sometimes it ends with Johnny crowding Bam up against the wall, pinning Bam’s wrists out to his sides with his hands, the both of them smiling and laughing. 

When it’s morning and Johnny’s pulling on the shirt he wore last night, Bam socks him on the exposed skin of his abdomen, making a barely there bruise that Bam’s mouthing over in a completely different hotel room later that night. 

When they’re not fighting, they’re fucking, an endless cycle of fucking and fighting and fucking and fighting spent behind the closed doors of hotel rooms. 

~ 

It’s morning again and they have to be at the airport in a couple of hours and they’re already running late. It’s the last day of shooting, the last day spent together before they all get to return to their normal lives again. Johnny feels like he misses Bam already. 

They haven’t said a word to each other since they woke up, just shared a few glances and hints of smiles, Johnny goes to take a shower and now Bam’s in here with him, too. 

Bam’s got his face buried in the crook of Johnny’s neck, water is beating down Johnny’s back, they don’t move, afraid and unwilling to break the moment. The water’s warm enough to make Johnny wanna crawl back in bed and sleep for another five hours. 

Bam asks, his face still in Johnny’s neck and his voice all throaty like it is when they’ve been fucking, “What’re we doing, man?” 

Johnny knows he’s referring to either the time they’ve spent in general or why they’ve just been standing here in the shower for at least half an hour. Either way, Johnny’s surprised he’s just now asking, but he doesn’t have an answer for him. “I don’t know.” 

They still don’t move, take another few minutes gaining enough energy to get out, pull on their clothes, and go about their day, pretending everything’s normal and just as it should be. 

Pretend they’re not gonna go back to their lives and keep wishing they were still in those hotel rooms. Pretend that when they run into each other again, because they will, that this secret they’ve been living out won’t happen again.


End file.
